


Five Times Missing the Orangerie

by goseaward



Category: Westmark - Alexander
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Queen Caroline and Dr. Torrens didn't meet in the orangerie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Missing the Orangerie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocowardsoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocowardsoul/gifts).



> Thanks to Femme, who did a wonderful and totally amazing beta in like an hour because I had to get on a plane. Any remaining errors are my own.

1.

He was walking in as she walked out: obviously a commoner, thick-featured beneath dark hair shot with white, his clothes simple and lacking color. Caroline was surprised to see that he was accompanied by one of the chief minister's assistants. Rarely would such a man be allowed to see such a high functionary in the government, let alone brought to the gardens.

"Your Majesty, I have brought the physician, Dr. Torrens," the assistant said with a nervous bow.

To his credit, the commoner--the physician, rather--bowed too as soon as he heard her honorific. "Your Majesty," he said. His voice was rough-hewn too, to go with the rest of him.

"I understand you come highly recommended," Caroline said.

Torrens opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it and merely nodded. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"As a physician, I imagine you are about to tell me to apply a poultice of some kind and to remain indoors." Caroline ran one hand down the gentle swell of her belly.

"If Your Majesty would like a poultice--"

"I would not," Caroline said. She saw one of her maids lower her head nearby, obviously sensing Caroline's mood.

"Then I would say that fresh air is the best thing," Torrens said.

Caroline studied him and tried to understand. Was he saying what he thought she wanted to hear? Or giving an honest opinion?

"I would also recommend a cushion for Your Majesty's feet. They will be more comfortable if they are elevated." Torrens was looking decidedly uncomfortable, too stiff for the setting with his fingers jittering slightly along the hem of his shirt. He sounded like a panderer now, if an inexperienced one.

"I will bear that in mind."

"And I would happily take Dr. Chartrin's honeywater with mint from Your Majesty if the need for it has ended. I know a goat who is rather fond of it."

Caroline looked him in the eye, startled, but his expression had not changed. Perhaps someone to watch after all. "I think that shall do nicely," she said, motioning to her maid. "I hope you enjoy your tour of the gardens."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Torrens said, though she was already on her way down the path.

2.

Augusta ran out of the garden, laughing, and Caroline followed. Focused so low on the ground, she almost ran into Torrens head-on.

"Hello," he said, smile crinkling down at queen and princess.

"Badmi'ton," Augusta said somberly, then dashed around him and down the corridor.

Caroline tried to suppress a smile. "My apologies," she said. "I'm afraid I did not see you coming."

"I seem to have survived the encounter," Torrens said. "She is doing well?"

"She enjoys running away from me."

"Ah, but is she running away from you, or towards something else?"

Caroline gave up the fight and smiled at him. "She is two. What can I know of her mind?"

"Only what she tells you, as with all people. Though as to the meaning of badminton..."

"Outside your professional call?"

Torrens raised an eyebrow. "Very little is outside my professional call, Your Majesty."

"Is it so? Perhaps I shall have you tutor Gloria in her embroidery. Her leaves look like small snakes..."

Torrens laughed and raised his hands. "Peace. Perhaps I should say, there is very little of mind or body that is outside my professional call."

"As you say." Caroline nodded her head past Torrens into the corridor. "I should follow my child. She is not quite old enough, yet, to be safe without her mother."

"I believe I heard her footsteps turn to the right," Torrens said.

Caroline smiled up at him again. "Thank you, my friend."

"As always, Your Majesty." Torrens sketched a bow and passed into the rose garden, and Caroline set off in search of Augusta once again.

3.

His face, again, coming out of the garden. Caroline would once have not believed that she could find it dear, but she scarcely registered the peasant features now under the instant recognition of friendship. She ran to him and clasped his hands. "You have come back," she said, and the echo of the words was strong on her tongue, a full joy that she could not speak around further.

"Cabbarus is gone and my exile lifted. Of course I have come back." He squeezed her hands, then let them go. "And I am not the only one."

"No."

"Is she settled? Is she--"

Caroline was not sure what he had meant to say next; he stopped as if afraid of voicing something. "She is well. Too rude in her manners, perhaps, but she is learning. And the king is better as well. Still frail, but stronger by the day, and he wishes the clarity now."

"That is good news." Torrens passed a hand over his face and Caroline realized he was tired, and more worn than the months should have left him.

"And have you been well?"

"I have," he said. Caroline was not sure she believed him. "I have, and I have met interesting people and made stimulating conversation. But it is good to be home."

"It is good to have us here, all together again," she said as the bells began to peal noontime.

4.

In the rose garden, there was a bench of wrought iron that Augustine had loved when they were young. Caroline stopped there and took in the roses, blooming large and heavy, a little earlier than usual.

"May I join you?"

Caroline looked up and Torrens was standing next to her. "Of course," she said, twitching her black skirt away to make room.

"Heavy thoughts?"

"Augustine loved the roses," she said.

"Do you think he ran through them as a boy and nearly knocked over court physicians?" Torrens said.

"No." Caroline smiled. "Augusta was more like me."

"And the country is in good hands."

"As you say."

They sat in silence for some minutes, comforted. The breeze stirred the blossoms. Torrens had a robust love of fresh air that had little to do with the gardens in particular, but he would join her there if there she was. Theo was a different sort of boy. He had drawn her a picture of the fountain near the violets.

"Theo will do well," she said.

"He loves his country and his Queen," Torrens said. "Both serve him as well as any education."

"Perhaps you have spent too much time with the revolutionaries," Caroline said, smiling.

"No, Your Majesty." Caroline turned to look at him, and his face was set in a flat denial. "They believe...things I do not. I merely think that Theo will serve Augusta well, and love her better than that."

She sighed. "I believe so, too. This younger generation...such wild ideas. But the two of them I trust."

"We were young once too," Torrens said.

"I scarcely remember," Caroline said. She was not so old, but old enough, perhaps, that the world had begun to pass her by.

With some amusement, Torrens said, "You scarcely remember? Tell me so again when your hair begins to turn grey."

"With a child such as mine, I believe that will be soon," she said, and Torrens pressed her hand and smiled.

5.

The orangerie was all around her, sweet-smelling and beautiful, until she opened her eyes and then the world went wrong.

The cart bounced and she closed her eyes again for the peace of the garden. She found it easily until the cart bounced again.

They stopped, finally, at a farmhouse. Torrens spoke with the family and Caroline drifted, thinking of the orangerie one summer when they had set candles all around so the night glowed. He took her to the bed, or pallet, and they were tucking her in...

No. He should be going. They would find him soon. She grabbed his hand to tell him, but he argued. He was silly; he was wonderful, and she wanted him to know.

The orangerie swam in front of her again and she told him, she told him everything, or maybe she thought everything and told him what she could, what status and nicety allowed.

He thought they could have been happy, and she let herself go into the garden. It didn't hurt, it never hurt, as long as he was there.


End file.
